


God Rest Ye

by FloreatCastellum



Series: Marauder Moments [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Families of Choice, Found Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25170736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloreatCastellum/pseuds/FloreatCastellum
Summary: After running away from home, Sirius tentatively settles into life with the Potters.
Series: Marauder Moments [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1474679
Comments: 10
Kudos: 85





	God Rest Ye

Sirius could hardly believe it. James’s parents had not yet asked him, not once, when he was going home or how long he was planning to stay or even encouraged him to patch things up with his mother. They had gone about it all as though it was perfectly expected - the camp bed he had slept on the first few nights had been replaced at once with a proper one, and on Christmas Eve, though Mrs Potter had attempted to accompany them in Diagon Alley, James had given her the slip and dragged Sirius into Muggle London to buy Sirius new clothes, because the ones he’d borrowed were far too small. He reckoned Mrs Potter had foreseen this eventuality, because she’d given them Muggle money along with wizarding. 

They raced like hooligans through the crowds of Christmas shoppers to the nearest tube station, and James nearly killed himself sliding down the space between the escalators and getting launched into the air near the bottom. Sirius whooped and yelled with laughter as he ran down after him and roughly picked him up, and then they were cramming themselves onto the packed train and hurtling east towards Petticoat Lane market. There, they ran riot still, the rhythmic shouts and songs of the traders fighting over the crowd, the little stalls crammed along the street. They paused while buying Sirius new boots to chat to a few muggle girls, their blonde hair a mass of bubbly curls, and somehow they ended up telling the girls that they had tickets to something called Top of the Pops. Neither of them had a clue what this was, but it seemed to work, because both of them were extremely giggly and excited, and Sirius ended up snogging one of them behind one of the stalls, before she gave him a long number on a bit of paper, a wink, and then left. 

‘Where’ve you been?’ James demanded, when he returned to the stall. 

Sirius cast his eyes around for the other curly-haired girl. ‘Where’s your friend?’ 

‘Your friend came and grabbed her by the elbow and they ran off giggling - you prick, you snogged her already, didn’t you? I reckon I was in there.’ 

‘She gave me this,’ Sirius said, showing him the long line of numbers. James stared at it. 

‘What are you meant to do with that?’ 

‘No idea.’ 

When they got back to Godric’s Hollow, Mrs Potter dragged James off the Knight Bus by his ear, scolding him fiercely for the worry he’d inflicted on her, but all the same she had admired the new leather jacket and all the t-shirts and jeans, and she’d asked them if they’d had a nice day while she cheerfully dished up some kind of vegetarian curry for them that Sirius had restrained his grimace at initially but turned out to be quite nice, actually. It was so different to what he was used to - Kreacher wasn’t bad at cooking, far from it, but dinner was always such a palava, on his mother’s insistance. Different types of forks and knives and fucking silver goblets and the conversation always ended in them arguing and elbows off the table and don’t slouch like that-

But James was already helping himself to food while Mrs Potter was serving up, and she was casually caressing his hair with one hand as she spooned rice onto his plate and asked him if he’d remembered to pick up some new socks and underwear too, and Mr Potter was settling into his chair and tutting and saying, ‘don’t ask the poor boy that, Effie, he deserves some privacy - and I’m sure you did, didn’t you?’ 

The conversation wasn’t tense or political or baiting - it was about Quidditch, and James’s vigorous defence of the Caerphilly Catapults’s latest performance (and Mr Potter’s scathing rebuttal) was loud and impassioned but nobody seemed angry or irritated and what was more, he asked Sirius’s opinion about it. 

‘There’s an interview with Roy Johnson on the wireless later,’ James said, ‘then you’ll hear that he does have a plan for the chasers, and it was working until-’

‘We won’t, because we’re not in this evening,’ Mr Potter said. 

James spluttered indignantly. ‘What d’you mean?’ 

‘Carols,’ said Mrs Potter briskly. 

James practically collapsed onto the table with a great, exaggerated groan of annoyance. ‘Can’t we skip it this year? Sirius and I were going to-’

‘No! It’s Christmassy!’ insisted Mrs Potter. 

‘You used to love it,’ said Mr Potter. 

‘When I was little, but-’

‘And I’m sure you’d like it, wouldn’t you, Sirius?’ 

‘Er - I dunno… I’ve not really ever-’

‘Well of course you’ll love it!’ insisted Mrs Potter. ‘Don’t pull that face, James - it’ll be nice-’

‘It’ll be boring,’ said James grumpily. 

‘Oh, that’s the spirit, isn’t it?’ said Mr Potter. ‘Brighten up, there’ll be plenty of time to hear Roy Johnson’s ludicrous opinions on hawk formations another day.’ 

So an hour later, they were pulling on scarves and gloves and Mr Potter was laughing as he clapped his son on the back and told him he’d enjoy it once he was there, Mrs Potter fussing over Sirius’s jacket and saying it wasn’t warm enough and maybe he should borrow a jumper…

The snow crunched under their feet as they walked through the village - it seemed busier than Sirius had ever seen it, a snaking crowd in thick coats and woollen hats, occasional snowballs flying around, people grasping onto the arms of their nearest as they slipped on hardened snow against the cobbles. Some where heading towards the pub, but Sirius and the Potter family made their way to the old church, the gnarled, stretching branches of the huge yew tree in the graveyard heavy with snow. 

‘Oh! There are the Abbotts!’ cried Mrs Potter. ‘Dawn! Dawn! Hello!’ She waved enthusiastically at a family up at the front of the line, who waved delightedly back. 

‘Is that Andrew Bosley from the year above?’ said Sirius, squinting through the crowd. 

‘Merlin - don’t look at him,’ said James swiftly, seizing Sirius by the arm and pulling him behind Mr Potter. ‘I don’t want to be stuck next to him, still trying to trade chocolate frog cards at his age.’ 

Sirius laughed, but as he looked around he could see lots of vaguely familiar faces from Hogwarts. ‘Everyone knows everyone round here, don’t they?’ 

‘Oh, yeah,’ said James easily, as they shuffled towards the large open doors. ‘One of those places, isn’t it? Where we all gather.’ 

The church had a distinct musty smell beneath the scent of the candles and Christmassy spices, the shining multi-coloured tinsel sellotaped along every pew. Sirius was not sure he had ever been somewhere like this before. Certainly his parents were not the religious type, and he didn’t get the sense that the Potters particularly were either, but rather that this was a community event. Naturally his mother would have preferred to live in total isolation and silence for the rest of her life than be part of a community that included Muggles, so something like this was quite alien to him. 

‘Oh, do you remember, James?’ said Mrs Potter fondly, clapping a hand to her chest and watching the oddly-robed little choir boys filing into the stalls by the altar. ‘Do you-’

‘Shut up,’ said James quickly. 

‘-remember when you used to-’

‘Shut up, Mum!’ 

Sirius barked with laughter as he realised, but Mrs Potter continued. ‘You looked so sweet in your little surplice-’

‘You wore that, James?’ exclaimed Sirius gleefully. ‘Were you a little choir boy?’

‘No-’ said James at once. 

‘And you sang so beautifully,’ Mrs Potter continued happily, ‘it was such a shame when your voice broke.’ 

‘I never knew that,’ said Sirius, an evil amusement rising. 

James swore, earning himself a glare from several attending parishioners and a sharp elbow from his father. ‘Not in here,’ Mr Potter hissed. ‘Behave yourselves.’ 

‘I can’t believe you were an altar boy,’ Sirius whispered, sniggering. 

‘I wasn’t, shut up,’ James whispered back. With great reluctance, he muttered, ‘I was just in the choir, I didn’t do any of the Jesus-y stuff.’ 

‘What was your favourite song?’ Sirius asked gleefully. 

‘I will punch you in the throat.’ 

‘That’s not very Christmassy.’ 

Sirius had been prepared for a dull, somber sort of affair, but while they all cramped in there was a great sort of rustling and he realised that mince pies and little cups of mulled wine were being handed out; Mr Potter handed his to him but then spotted someone over Sirius’s shoulder and beamed. 

‘Derek! How are you, old chap?’ 

The Potters seemed to know so many people in the village, and there was so much genuine warmth that Sirius found himself, bizarrely, feeling rather distraught. He couldn’t possibly understand why the warm mince pie in his hand made him feel this way, or why James at his side politely making conversation with an old lady in the pew in front was causing images to flicker through his mind of he and his brother being escorted to their parents by Kreacher, to be presented to them for ten minutes, before ushered up to bed. He felt oddly breathless, and he looked up at the great, dark rafters of the church, and wondered if his mother had missed him, these last few days he had played at being part of a different family. 

The crowd was quietening, an organ was groaning into sound, there was a rustling of papers as sheets were handed out. 

‘God rest ye merry gentlemen let nothing you dismay…’ 

He did not know the words; he looked helplessly at James who was already singing with his father, the angelic choir boys echoing in the background of the deeper voices of the gathered crowd. James glanced sideways at him, then quickly nudged his father on the other side and jerked his head at Sirius. 

Mr Potter leaned across, his hand grasping Sirius’s shoulder as the other handed him the sheet, and pointed to where they were. 

‘When we were gone astray,’ Sirius began to sing uneasily, but James gave him a nod, and a slightly exasperated grin as he sang loudly. ‘O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy,’ they sang, Mr Potter’s hand still grasping his shoulder, James between them. ‘O tidings of comfort and joy.’ 

Mrs Potter was on the other side of him, and though he was sure she knew the words, she leaned close to share the lyric sheet he was holding, her hand on his back. 

He had never known anything like this before, never stood here huddled as though part of a loving family. The momentary, fleeting affections given to him by his own parents were distant childhood memories, and even still they felt cold and formal, as stiff and carefully crafted as the silver goblets that always gleamed on the table. 

‘And unto certain shepherds brought tidings of the same…’ 

Sirius felt as warm as the mulled wine still clasped in his hand.


End file.
